52 PickUp
by CraftyNotepad
Summary: Could be a better title? Yes, but It is my 52nd story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I'd go trick-or-treating as both halves of a two-headed hockey player if it meant I could own Phil of the Future.

**_Author's Note_:** Another PotF game discovered while searching for "Keely Star of the Future" online game. A "Keely-age" Alyson Michalka awaits patiently as you give her a make over for her next PotF scene. There's a link for it on my author's page. It's no "Lloyd and Curtis Do Midnight Inventory At Mantis Hardware," "Messerschmitt Judges the Pickford Fair's Ketchup Contest," or "Let's Give Roswell a Tick Bath," but it doesn't pretend to be.

**52 Pick-Up**

Phil was late. Now, while this was not an uncommon trait and one you (and I) may share, we're not Phil. More precisely, we're not Keely, and while tardiness was not something which appeared on her radar regarding anyone else she knew, when it came to her best friend - well, he was the exception. It was his own doing, his fault. So many false alarms regarding his returning to the future with his family. Over time, callouses had formed, sure, and Keely had almost become nonchalant about his announcements over Diffy family departures; however, she hadn't yet learned to appreciate and be comforted by how they were forever false. For his best friend, each homecoming announcement struck her in the pitt of her stomach.

And he was late. Say what you like about how the Diffys were still adapting to life in the early Twenty-first Century, but between their hyperspeed setting on their wizrds and a couple of greased lightning skyaks, well, while Pim might rack up tardies for her topiary class, it wasn't because she_ COULDN'T_ be there on time. Pim's brother only came late to class if he was the victim of a future disease, like the one that made his belly button issue wolf whistles whenever someone passed by - something which only Vice-Principal Hackett took as complimentary. Okay, or if he was cleaning up after another of his sister's shenanigans - printing your own fifty dollar bills is frowned upon in this century, Pim; yes, even if you recycle one dollar bills to do it with - that's not what "going green" really means! About the only other reason why Phil Diffy was ever late was if he had to deliver THE bad news about ... well, I'm not even going to say it. Keely's on the verge of tears and I'm not going to be the one to open those flood gates and make her feel any worse; are you?

Heavy heart, she gave up waiting for Phil to hook up with her (Not like that! This is Pickford, for ketchup's sake.) at the library (Now, don't you feel silly?) and rapidly headed in the Diffy direction.

The time machine was still in the driveway. WHEW! GOOD!

Barbara had long ago given Keely Teslow the "you're part of the family" speech over Pim's written objections, her hubby's disinterest, and her son's mixture of pride and blushing, so Keely grabbed the doorknob and went right inside, rather than knock. Nobody home? If she'd have been Curtis, she would have sniffed the air right about now.

Downstairs was eerily still and quiet. Their kitchen orderly, breakfast dishes already cleaned and put away for one of Barbara's next experiments. The family room tidy, just waiting its turn for the next family game night: Rock'em Sock'em Robots - with real robots; Barbara, of all the Diffys, seemed to be the most excited about the upcoming matches. This side of Phil's mom made Keely all the more curious over what would happen, but not as curious as she was about the scampering noises she could now make out coming from upstairs.

His door was open anyway, and it wasn't like she hadn't been in his bedroom before, so without a thought to "it could be a burglar, Teslow," Keely walked upstairs and entered Future Boy's room.

Yeah, it was Phil.

(Author's Query: End story here? Is that what Doug and Tim would do? No way. Read On!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I'd give Tanner his own talk show if it meant I could own Phil of the Future.

**52 Pick-Up Continued**

It was Phil, all right, and he did not look happy.

"Keely? What are you ... OH, I was suppose to meet you at -. My Bad."

"Phil, what are you doing? You room?"

Phil Diffy's room, if you ignored the assortment of time machine parts and doughnuts hung on one wall, was always beyond clean. It was immaculate. Maybe messy Phil escaped during his garage stay with Curtis, but the perfectionist aspect of his personality seemed to demand order. Not the kind of order that his little sister would settle for, but structure nonetheless.

Yet the classic tidy bedroom wasn't what Keely was experiencing at the moment. More like a bull had manage the full seven seconds times seven in Phil's room, and Phil? He was occupied returning his bedroom to a semblance of order, his movements dually motivated and exasperated. He obviously had been cleaning for some time already, not that part of his room was clean presently. There were patches of carpeting and even his desktop emerging through the clutter though.

"Did your sister do this?" Keely asked the obvious choice. "Did the time machine parts explode in your room again?" she hoped, repressing a smile.

"I was late."

"I know, but it's alright. We can go shopping some other time."

"No."

"No?"

"No - I mean, 'No, I was late with my Pim payment, so Pimbellina snitched that I've been wizrding holograms to make my room look clean. My folks are giving me until they return with Pim from the Pickford Fairgrounds to have everything in here the way it appeared to be, or else."

"What's the problem? Wizrd the - was this pizza? Just zap the room right again."

"Pim suggested that I do it the current day way."

"Uh, Phil, just how long has your room been this way?"

"You don't want to know. Let's just say that I've learned my lesson and it'll never be like this again. Can you hand me that?"

"Is it safe?"

Phil focused on large items first, then he worked from one side of the room to the other. Sooner than either of them expected, it was becoming a matter of fine tuning. Now, Keely started volunteering suggestions. Still picking up bits and pieces, including the occasional future gadgets behind the door, under the bed, or wedged between the digits of his chair. He nearly missed Keely not-so-subtly asking him if he thought his desk needed a picture. Picking up a Penny Missile he hadn't seen since his ill fated attempt at gymnastics, he shrugged and passively agreed with her, as he often did.

Keely pushed the issue, "Maybe something in a silver frame?'

"Okay, I guess;" he muttered, "blast." Finding one of the Omnimatic Grabifiers equated to more work; now he'd have to find its partner. Maybe in the armor?

Her thumb flying, Keely took what she thought was a glamorous snapshot with her cellphone. Passing her phone along to an almost finished cleaning Phil, she wondered aloud, "Maybe a picture like this? Doesn't she look like the most crazy hot girl ever?"

"Not exactly how I'd describe her."

Exclaiming "What? WHAT? Why? Why I never!" a wound up, Keely turned and marched out of the room and down the hall.

Diffy looked at the phone's picture in one hand, and at the Giggle in his other. Returning the all-knowing Giggle to the trunk in his closet, he was hurt; she'd knocked the wind from his sails. His hand resting on the triangular Giggle, hushed words escaped from his lips as his fingertips traced its edges, "She ... she's the image of my wife when we were teens."

Somehow, part way down the staircase, her ears heard the first part, and it was enough to make her pause her descent before deciding what to do next.


End file.
